Chapter 89.
With that lingering question, Shuta An found Tojo Hana in the Trainer's cafeteria during lunch break.
"El Condor Pasa retiring?" Tojo Hana pinched the bridge of her nose, her tone carrying a trace of helplessness. "I didn't expect you to care about that, Shuta-kun."
"Of course I care,"
Shuta An replied immediately, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
"I was looking forward to a proper clash between El Condor Pasa and Special Week in the Japan Cup. If Special Week lost again, Nishizaki-san's expression would've been something worth seeing."
His smile lingered for a moment before fading into something more thoughtful. "But retiring this quietly—that's strange, isn't it?"
"There's nothing strange about it," Tojo Hana exhaled softly. "It was her own decision."
Shuta An's brows lifted.
"Her own? That makes even less sense. She just lost to Montjeu in the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe. With her personality, she should be thinking about revenge next year—or at least staying active long enough to clash with stronger opponents again."
He paused, his expression sharpening slightly. "Unless…it's something like Tamamo Cross's situation? Financial pressure forcing her into the Dream Trophy Series?"
"No," Tojo Hana cut him off, shaking her head. "If it were money, I'd have found a way. I'd even buy her contract myself just to keep her racing another year."
She lowered her gaze slightly, her tone turning heavier. "It's because she's dissatisfied with the current URA Association."
Shuta An blinked once. "Dissatisfied…how?"
"For one, the restriction on returning Uma Musume participating in Classic Races,"
Tojo Hana explained.
"They claim it protects locally developed runners, but in reality, it's unfair to those who haven't even trained overseas. And after she came back, suddenly they wanted to promote her, praise her, package her—"
Shuta An's eyes shifted. "The attitude changed too quickly."
"Exactly."
Tojo Hana's voice softened, but the frustration beneath it was unmistakable.
"She said—if people like that are running the Association—people who only care about riding her achievements to climb higher—then she has no interest in continuing to race for their benefit."
Silence followed.
"I see." Shuta An nodded once and quite agree from her view as a runner, the conclusion settling cleanly in his mind.
He didn't argue, nor did he criticize. That kind of decision—rooted in pride rather than circumstance—was something he understood, even if he wouldn't necessarily make the same choice himself.
Back at his workstation, reality resumed its usual rhythm. An unread email waited in his inbox. He clicked it open.
"A contribution request from 'Twinkle'—"
He didn't need to read further. A faint smirk appeared. "Another evaluation piece for the Tenno Sho (Autumn), huh."
Seventeen participants. Fifteen with major titles.
Even for him, that lineup was impossible to ignore.
"No wonder no one complains about Suzuka skipping this one," he muttered, thinking briefly of Silence Suzuka and her Hong Kong campaign.
He accepted the work without hesitation. Efficient, methodical, precise—his analysis flowed quickly. By the time he finished, the clock had aligned perfectly with the end of the workday.
Weekend arrived.
At Tokyo Racecourse, the atmosphere was already building, but Shuta An had deliberately insulated himself from it. Borrowing access from Symboli Rudolf, he settled into the quiet exclusivity of the Student Council's box.
"Comfortable," he remarked, opening a can of sparkling water and leaning back into the sofa.
Across from him, Mejiro Dober sat neatly, her posture composed, almost too composed.
"Relax," he added casually. "There's no one else here."
"Mm."
She nodded, though her movements remained restrained, as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
Shuta An studied her briefly, then asked, "You don't have anything else planned today, right?"
"That's right," she answered, before instinctively shaking her head when he followed up. "No, nothing's wrong."
The response came too quickly.
He didn't press her. Instead, he shifted his gaze toward the track beyond the glass.
"There's still over an hour before the first race," he said. "If sitting here feels stiff, we could walk around."
"It's fine," Mejiro Dober replied after a short pause, her voice softer now. "I've already explored this place."
Another silence settled—quieter this time, more deliberate.
From her side, the hesitation lingered, unspoken but persistent.
"After the final race—" she thought to herself, fingers lightly tightening against her skirt, "that should be the right time."
—
This year's Tenno Sho (Autumn) carried an unusual shift in expectations. The upset in the Kyoto Daishoten had stripped Special Week of her status as the top favorite, and in her place, Seiun Sky—fresh off a commanding victory in the Sapporo Kinen—rose to claim the majority of the crowd's confidence. Yet when it came time to cast his vote, Shuta An did not hesitate.
"Trainer still thinks highly of Special Week-senpai," Mejiro Dober murmured softly, her eyes lingering on his selection.
"Naturally."
Shuta An leaned back, a faint smile playing at his lips.
"Someone capable of making Dober hesitate is not someone I can afford to underestimate. Otherwise, wouldn't that be the same as belittling your strength?"
"It's mainly because—Special Week-senpai favors a late-surge strategy," Mejiro Dober explained, her voice measured, though lacking conviction.
"That's the type I dislike the most. Competing in the final sprint from the same position—I would rather be the one chasing from behind."
"I see." Shuta An cast her a brief glance before shifting his focus back ahead. "In any case, the Queen Elizabeth Cup is next week. Your chase metrics this week are solid—reduce intensity moving forward."
"I will win." Mejiro Dober's reply came without hesitation. "I've reviewed the field. I can defeat them by at least a length."
"A win is still a win, even by a nose." His tone remained casual, yet precise. "Margins only matter when they invite doubt. Otherwise, victory alone is sufficient."
Still, Mejiro Dober's thoughts drifted elsewhere. The bonus from her Triple Tiara triumph had already eased her family's burdens—for now. Yet that relief only sharpened her awareness of the future.
"Sometimes—I wonder if I should follow Senior Special Week's path," she said after a pause. "Run one more year to repay the fans, then move on to the Dream Trophy Series."
"That path isn't easier." Shuta An's voice carried quiet certainty. "The pressure there is different—more personal. In the Twinkle Series, you can still focus on the race itself. I'll handle the rest. But once you step into the Dream Trophy—everything becomes your responsibility."
"Mm~ I understand." She lowered her gaze slightly, then nodded. "Trainer has always taken care of me."
By the time the afternoon settled in, the atmosphere had already begun to shift. The Tenno Sho (Autumn) was about to begin.
A replay flashed across the screen—last year's race, where Silence Suzuka had stunned the crowd with a blistering 57.4-second opening pace. The commentator's voice rang with anticipation as the camera returned to the present.
"This year, seventeen outstanding Uma Musume gather on this stage! What kind of performance will they deliver?! First to enter—No. 1, Air Jihad! Winner of this year's Yasuda Kinen, now challenging across distances!"
"Japan's standards for 'strength' are…peculiar,"
Shuta An remarked, almost idly, as the introductions continued.
"Peculiar?" Mejiro Dober tilted her head.
"In Europe and America, mastery at a single distance is enough to earn recognition," he explained.
"Even if it's an awkward range like 1400 or 1800 meters, excellence is still excellence. But here—that's rarely accepted. A specialist is treated as incomplete unless they prove themselves elsewhere."
"That does seem accurate." She considered it carefully. "Because of that, audiences prefer versatility—like Air Jihad today."
"Exactly." His smile deepened slightly. "She's never even run a graded 2000-meter race, yet her popularity rivals Special Week. That sentiment alone gives her an advantage."
"So, Trainer doesn't favor her?"
Mejiro Dober's gaze dropped to his hand, where his fingers tapped lightly against the table.
"I already made my choice." He shrugged. "I vote for whoever can win."
At that moment, the commentator's voice surged, cutting through the air like a blade.
"Special Week is coming from the outside! She's closing in—faster and faster! Is this the spirit of a Derby champion?! Only Stay Gold remains ahead, struggling to hold on! But with a blistering 58-second pace in the opening 1000 meters, the leaders are collapsing! On Tokyo's endless straight, can anyone resist her charge?!"
The roar swelled—
"Twenty meters to go! Special Week overtakes Stay Gold! The Kyoto Daishoten was merely an accident—this is the real Special Week! One minute, fifty-eight seconds flat!"
Silence lingered in the aftermath, heavy and undeniable.
"She's…incredible." Shuta An's voice was low, almost absent-minded, as he watched the victorious figure waving to the stands.
"If this is her form…sending Dober to the Japan Cup would be unwise."
"Then we focus on what we can win," he added, turning toward Mejiro Dober. "Next year, though—I'm considering entering you in mixed fields."
"Understood." She rose quietly and stepped closer, extending two tickets toward him.
Shuta An blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "What's this?"
"They're KTV coupons," she replied, her voice softening as her composure wavered slightly. "Digital-chan and I got them before…but she doesn't like singing. They'll expire soon, so… I thought—"
Her words trailed off, barely above a whisper.
"I wanted to go with Trainer. And… practice for Winning Live."